


A War Against Oneself.

by ThreePipePr0blem (7percent)



Series: Saving Captain Crieff [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, M/M, Mental Illness, Self Harm, Suicide Attempt, slight m/m
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:37:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7percent/pseuds/ThreePipePr0blem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas is there when Martin takes a dark turn, will he be able to save captain Crieff this time? Can be read without reading the rest of the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A War Against Oneself.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. Any mistakes are my own.

It wasn't long before Douglas found out about Martin's habit. It was something the young man couldn't control. Even after passing his CPL Martin still felt as though he didn't belong in the world. That he didn't deserve to be a pilot, and why should he? He barely passed that exam, one less mark and there would be one less person in the world. It was a guilt that the captain couldn't live with. So he dealt with it the only way he knew how. He sliced thick and thin pink ribbons of disgust into his skin.

The cuts would stand out upon his skin for months, glaring at him. Telling him that he had done wrong. That he wasn't good enough. That guilt made him want to cut more and more. It was a viscous cycle of disgust and hatred. Although passers by may think that Douglas' taunts towards the young man where full of hatred, nobody could hate Martin Crieff more than himself. He didn't want to be who he was, he would give almost anything to stop being this pathetic person that he had made himself out to be. He wanted to be stronger than this, but he was slowly giving up, and no one would be there to catch him... or so he thought.

Douglas wouldn't have said anything had it not been for the night they spent in Cermona when he and the other pilot of MJN air flew out that actress that he forgot the name of. Martin and he had spent the night together in a twin room at the appalling Garibaldi hotel, and yet the younger man was nowhere in sight. That was when the first officer heard a soft sound coming from the poorly equipped en suite, which had barely functioning utilities and just enough space for one person to stand inside of it. 

Pressing his ear to the wooden door, Douglas could hear a sniffling, and the ruffling of clothes. He was confused. What was Martin doing in there? He tried to open the door, pushing down on the handle slowly only to find it was locked. He repeated the action, faster and faster until his voice escaped him franticly.  
“Martin? Are you okay?” He called from the other side of the door.  
“I'm... I'm fine, just leave me alone Douglas.” Martin grabbed some of the toilet paper from beside him and blew his nose into it. “I must have caught a cold that's all. Nothing to worry about.” The younger man got up and turned towards the broken mirror and splashed water onto his face, trying desperately to remove the red rimming his eyes from the tears he had shed just minutes before. He couldn't allow Douglas to find out just how weak he really was. He didn't want to be a failure in another person's eyes. So he sniffed once more, stood up as tall as he possibly could and unlocked the door. 

Douglas was still at the door waiting for his friend to come back into the room. Douglas always though of Martin as his friend, he was just never good with any sort of relationships, he had two divorces to prove that and a marriage that wasn't going to well. As the first officer glanced over the captain, he felt a pang of guilt hit his stomach. It was obvious that something was wrong, he just had no idea what. 

Martin stepped around his companion and slowly stepped towards the bed that was furthest away from the door and closest to the window. The view from the window was nothing special, and Martin took comfort in that. He already felt as though he wasn't good enough, to see a street full of mud and puddles on the outskirts of the city made him feel as though he was at least slightly important. Just for one moment, Martin felt he belonged here. The ginger haired man pushed back the itchy duvet and laid himself in the bed, pulling it over his head in an attempt to block out the world. Using his previous lie and jet lag excuses, Martin faked sleep, which lead to Douglas leaving the room and on a mission to find either a stewardess who was foolish enough to satisfy his needs or a bar tender willing to give him a pint. He was unsuccessful with both.

*

When Douglas returned he noticed that the Martin shaped lump that once resided in the bed on the opposite side of the room was missing. He could hear the slight ruffling of clothing again and noticed that the bathroom door was open. He toed towards it, not making a sound except from the startled gasp when he looked inside the crowed room. There on the floor of the shower, feet hanging out, toes an inch away from the bottom of the toilet was captain Martin Crieff, covered in a thick crimson substance and hardly breathing.  
“Martin!” Douglas climbed into the small room and positioned himself on top of the man making sure that both his knees where next to the thin man's beneath him. Douglas grabbed Martins wrists, not caring about the blood that had run down onto them, he check for a pulse. It was weak. Extremely weak. Thick fingers quickly went to purple eyelids, lifting them up to check Martin's pupils. Douglas knew that if he didn't get Martin to a hospital soon he wasn't going to see the man smile ever again. 

It hit Douglas like a train. What if all those smiles and laughs he had seen and heard had been fake. How long had Martin been feeling this low about himself that he felt the need to cut into his skin? The first officer wasted no more time and pulled the red emergency cord, he had never been to a hotel without one, even if they were as bad as this. Douglas realised how wet his hand was getting, still placed on the thin wrist. The cuts on Martin's arms where deep. They would almost certainly need stitches. He hated to see his friend in this much pain. He hated to see that he was at war with himself. Slowly he reached his hand up to Martin's cheek, tapping it gently trying to get a response from the injured man.  
“Martin, come on now. You need to wake up now.” A tear rolled down his cheek. “Please Martin. Please.”

By the door stood two hotel staff, one was on the phone speaking in rapid Italian, obviously just as worried for Martin as Douglas was. He took a closer look at the captain's face. Red blotches covered his skin under his eyes and occasionally on his cheeks. Those cheeks where covered in tear tracks, but Douglas wasn't naïve, he knew those blotches where those from excessive vomiting. It was obvious to the ex-medical student that Martin had been purging, it explained why the younger man was so pale and thin. Martin was sick, and Douglas felt terrible for not knowing about it straight away.

*

Once at the hospital Martin was rushed into a private room, while Douglas showed the receptionist the captain's details including his EHIC. The first officer was extremely worried for the poor man. He hadn't told Arthur about Martin being in hospital yet for many reasons. He didn't want to be worrying for two people, and Arthur couldn't keep a secret. If anyone was going to tell Carolyn that her captain was unable to fly it should be her first officer and not her twenty nine year old son. So Douglas went to make the phone call. Fiddling with lose Euros he placed a few into the slot located on the public phone and dialled the number he had learnt with ease.

“What do you want? I was asleep.” Carolyn's voice was thick with sleep, despite the one hour time difference Carolyn tended to go to sleep early. It was 11pm back in England. Douglas supposed it wasn't that late in reality.  
“Martin's in hospital” He so desperately wanted to sound strong, but his throat betrayed him when his voiced cracked, showing just how much he was effected by the whole ordeal.  
“What? This isn't funny Douglas.”  
“I'm not joking. He's in a critical condition.”  
“What happened?” There was a silence as a stray tear rolled down from Douglas' warm brown eyes towards his chin. “Douglas? Are you there?”  
“Y-yes” His voice cracked, “I'm here. He's hurt Carolyn, really hurt. I found him on the floor bleeding out, h-his pulse was almost non-existent. We could have lost him Carolyn, I just don't know what to do.” Tears where freely rolling down his cheeks, he didn't try to hide them anymore, he was allowed to be upset. He nearly lost a friend tonight.  
“Does Arthur know?”  
“No.”  
“I'll call him, you look after Martin. I'll sort out Hester, and tell her to book another plane for her trip back.”  
“Carolyn that is rid-”  
“No. I don't care, I'm not having both of my pilots in states that means they are unable to fly just for business sake. I would rather lose the bloody money!”  
“You don't like her at all do you?”  
“Not at all.” Douglas laughs a little, and allows the smallest of smiles to form on his face. “I'll go make those calls, you go watch over Martin.” Douglas leaves his thanks and places the phone on the receiver. He lent against the wall which the phone box hung and let out a shaky breath, and wiped the tears from his eyes. He needed to be strong for Martin. 

Glancing up, Douglas noticed a young nurse walking his direction, she smiled sweetly at him.  
“Mr Richardson?” He nodded. “Come with me.” She started to walk in the direction she had come from, Douglas followed behind at a much slower pace. “Mr Crieff is now stable, we've had to stitch up his arms and he will have to be force fed into a tube for a few days as he is frightfully underweight, we suspect that he has some sort of eating disorder and we would like to have him undergo tests to see if he has any mental illness.” They stop outside a room with the plaque stating Martin's name and his doctor's. “Mr Richardson, you should understand that Mr Crieff is very weak at the moment, and although he has regained consciousness, he isn't in the right state of mind to be asked heavy questions.” She pushes down on the handle and gestures Douglas to walk in. 

He took the small plastic seat beside Martin's bed and took hold of his hand, entwined their fingers.  
“Martin, I may not understand why you feel like this, and why you feel the need to cut into yourself, but I will be here to support you. I will try and help you overcome this. You're perfect. Don't let anyone else tell you differently. I know you'll probably never believe me but I wouldn't be here if I didn't care right? I was scared when I saw you Martin, so scared. I was terrified I was about to lose a friend. I need you here Martin. I hope you understand that.” Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. His voiced cracked and all Douglas could do was lay his head on the side of the hospital bed and cry into the uncomfortable mattress. He was too distracted to notice that Martin had clasped onto his hand tightly.


End file.
